Zero Hour
by Mally O'Jack
Summary: Set during S3 'Before and After'. A look at what happens to Voyager, and to Paris, in the days following the deaths of Janeway and B'Elanna.


So I first wrote this story a while ago under an old pseudonym, but gradually over time it got lost in the ether. I decided to resurrect it, after tidying up some parts. Feedback is always really welcome!

Summary: Set during S3 'Before and After'. A look at what happened to Voyager, and to Paris, in the immediate days following the deaths of B'Elanna and Janeway.

**Zero hour**

**by Mally O'Jack**

"_When she died, I felt like I wanted to die, too. But you...you helped me through it."_

Paris to Kes, _Before and After_

"_When this is over, we're all going to have a lot of grieving to do."_

Chakotay, _Before and After_

* * *

The mess hall looked more like a battlefield. Wounded crewman were strewn across the floor, some unconscious, others writhing in pain. The pervading smell of blood was everywhere.

Tom Paris grabbed a medikit and rushed to the nearest casualty.

_ Fractured ulna. Treat. Move on._

_ Facial laceration. Treat. Move on._

He was aware of the tricorder shaking in his hands._ Shock_, diagnosed some distant part of his mind. _Ignore_. _Move on._

It was several hours later when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up wearily into the blood-shot eyes of Harry Kim.

"Tom…I'm so sorry." The young ensign seemed close to tears.

Paris stood up stiffly and led his friend away from prying eyes.

"We put them in stasis," Harry choked out, "just in case…"

"Are you off duty now?"

Harry nodded.

"Okay. Go back to your quarters and get some sleep. I've got a sedative if you want one."

Harry shook his head. He turned away, as if in a dream. Then he blinked. "What are you going to do?"

"I've got to finish up here." And after that… he had no idea.

"Need a hand?"

"No." Paris pushed him toward the door. "Now get going."

After Harry had gone, Paris continued his work, hoping desperately that the Doctor would be back online soon.

Later, though he couldn't say when, he found himself back in his quarters. He remembered Chakotay saying something about how the situation was stabilised, that he needed to get some rest.

"Computer, what time is it?" His voice sounded strange.

"The time is 0340."

No wonder he felt so tired. He made his way over to the bed, kicking off his boots and stripping off his tunic. "Computer, lights at sleep mode." The lights darkened accordingly.

He lay down, crossing his hands behind his aching head. Thinking.

He didn't feel very upset. He felt…uneasy. As if it wasn't really happening.

Harry had been crying. That was what you were supposed to do. But he didn't feel sad enough to cry.

_Stop thinking._ _Go to sleep. _

His mind kept ticking over though, jumping from thought to thought restlessly.

Funny. When he was a kid, all he seemed to do was cry.

His eyes felt gritty and dry, and so he closed them and made a conscious effort to sleep. _A viewscreen._ _I'm thinking of a blank viewscreen. Nothing else. Just a blank viewscreen. A blank, empty viewscreen._

He felt empty. Sort of blank, too. Numb.

_Viewscreen. Keep thinking of a viewscreen._

How did the viewscreen work, anyway? B'Elanna would know.

He was unprepared for the sudden rush of nausea accompanying her name, and he turned over quickly, burying his head in the pillow.

_ Don't think about her. Think about something else. Not her. Go through conn protocol. _

Would he ever fall asleep?

* * *

The computer woke him a couple of hours later, announcing that it was time for his shift. He felt jittery, apprehensive, and for a brief moment wondered why.

He barely had time to change his clothes and take a sonic shower before he was on duty.

When he arrived on the bridge, there was a tangible change in the atmosphere. People looked away, studying their consoles intently. He noticed that Harry wasn't at his post.

Chakotay stood up from the Captain's chair to greet him. The older man looked exhausted; he'd bet Chakotay hadn't even returned to his quarters.

"Mr. Paris. I've given Ensign Kim the day off; I suggest you do the same."

"I'd rather stay."

Surprisingly, Chakotay didn't force the issue, and was about to sit down again, when Paris stopped him. Stepping close so that the rest of the bridge wouldn't hear, he said in a low voice, "Sir, if you want to get some sleep, Tuvok and I'll watch the bridge for you. We'll call if any Krenim show up."

Just as quietly, Chakotay replied, "That won't be necessary, Lieutenant." Perhaps he too was trying to cling onto normality for as long as possible.

Paris took his post, familiarising himself with the current situation and trying not to look at the remains of the starboard console. The bridge equipment trilled and beeped occasionally, as the minutes stretched into hours. Once, he made the mistake of looking over his shoulder at Chakotay. He turned back again quickly, embarrassed at witnessing so naked a grief.

"Captain." Tuvok pronounced the word as if he was saying it for the first time. Or maybe that was just his imagination. "There is a Krenim warship off the port bow."

The crew sprang to attention as if electrified.

"Range?" Chakotay barked.

Adrenaline was surging through his body as he plotted the fastest course to the Krenim ship.

"One light year," Tuvok answered.

"Lieutenant," Chakotay said, coming down to the conn. "Plot a course -"

"Already done, sir," he interrupted. His heart was beating furiously in anticipation.

"- away from the Krenim vessel."

He looked up, startled. "What?"

The older man kept his eyes fixed on the viewscreen. "You heard me."

He stood up, sending the chair backwards so that it smacked into the console. Heads turned. "Chakotay, what the hell's wrong with you? We have to go after them."

"As you were, Paris." Chakotay's voice was quiet.

Tom looked at the man in disbelief. "We owe it to B'Elanna, and to the Captain. We have to attack -"

"Lieutenant!" The shout resounded round the bridge, cutting him off in mid-sentence. "You're relieved of duty. Baytart, take the conn."

Chakotay stepped close to him, so close that Paris could see the dark shadows under his eyes. Anger clipped his words. "Our shields are at minimum. Tactical's barely functioning. We'll be lucky if we can go to warp. Going after them would only mean more casualties."

Of course. Of course Chakotay was right. But the need to destroy something raged furiously inside him still, and he clasped his hands behind his back and held them tight to prevent him from striking the older man.

"Take the day off, Tom. Get some rest."

He was aware of how quiet the bridge was, how uncomfortable Baytart looked as he slunk into the conn chair. He was aware also of the look of sympathy on Chakotay's face, and the urge to punch him grew stronger.

"Aye, sir," he ground out. He turned and strode towards the turbolift. Once inside, he waited until the doors had closed before driving his fist into the wall. The impact caused his knuckles to crunch, and pain shot up his arm. Dimly he heard the computer inquiring politely where he wanted to go. He leant his hot forehead against the wall. "Holodeck two."

* * *

With an unsteady hand, he passed the dermal regenerator over his bruised lip. The skin underneath the device tingled, and he forced himself not to rub at it. The holodeck had barely been working. The grid was visible in some places, but it made no difference. It was the Krenim he was focused on. Although, in his opinion, a malfunctioning holo-projector gave the flickering holograms an unfair advantage.

His lip no longer swollen, he set the regenerator down, and studied himself in the mirror. His cheek looked a little bruised still, but other than that, he looked normal.

Normal. A relative term. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he felt cold. Sick. Scared.

He leant closer, staring at his reflection.

_What do I do now? _

The door chime sounded.

He straightened, slipping the regenerator quickly into the drawer. "Enter," he called.

The doors swished open to reveal Chakotay.

"Lieutenant."

"Sir."

The older man's expression was sober. To Paris, it looked like he had something unpleasant on his mind, and was debating whether to hold it in or to just come right out and say it. He decided to save him the trouble.

"You're here because of what happened on the bridge, right?"

Chakotay raised his eyebrows in grim amusement. "Actually, I came to discuss B'Elanna's funeral."

He swallowed, hard, with no idea of what to say. The distress he felt must have shown on his face, for Chakotay's expression melted into one of compassion. "We can talk about this later, if you'd prefer."

He cleared his throat. "No, it's fine, but..." he strove to keep his voice even, "it only happened yesterday."

"In the Marquis, we didn't have the luxury of waiting." Chakotay looked at him closely. "I'm sorry. This is a bad time -"

"It's okay. Really. Have a seat."

And so they proceeded to arrange her funeral. What music would she have wanted? Did she have any favourite pieces of literature, Klingon or otherwise? Who should give her eulogy? At this, the two men disagreed.

"She was closer to you than to anyone," Chakotay said.

Paris shook his head. "You should do it. You knew her far better than I ever did. She respected you. Besides," he said, smiling despite himself, "now you've finally got a chance to tell the story of the hydraulic fluid explosion onboard the _Liberty_."

Chakotay winced. "B'Elanna told you about that?"

"I was there, remember? I was up on the bridge with Ayala and the others though, so we were never sure of the details. I do know that you two smelt like half-dead targs for a week afterwards."

Chakotay smiled. "And she forgave me after two." He eyed Paris carefully. "You're sure about this?"

"Absolutely."

They made inconsequential small talk for a little while after, but when it came to showing the older man out, Chakotay turned suddenly. "About what happened on the bridge today."

Paris sighed. "Wondered when you'd get around to that."

"I wanted to go after them as much as you did. But you do realise why we couldn't?" There was that look again.

"Yes. I'm sorry, sir, I don't know what I was thinking."

Chakotay nodded, apparently satisfied. "Very well. See you on the bridge tomorrow then, Lieutenant." He reached out and grasped his arm; an awkward gesture. Then he left.

Paris gritted his teeth, hating the artificiality of all, and yet, watching him walk down the corridor, had to fight the urge to call after him to stay.

As it was, he spent most of the night in sickbay with Harry, trying to get the EMH back online. The Doctor's matrix had been in a precarious state ever since the first attack, and although it had destabilised the previous day, they'd been able to restore his program. But the matrix was becoming increasingly unreliable. This time, fortunately, they were able to get him back.

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency," the Doctor intoned, then looked about. "How long was I down for this time?"

"Seven hours," said Harry, wearily.

The hologram's brow creased in agitation. "This is unacceptable. What if I destabalise during another attack?" His beady eyes narrowed at the ensign. "Miss Torres would have sorted this out long ago."

Paris felt white-hot anger flare up within him. "He's doing the best he can. It's not our fault the Krenim keep beating the crap out of us."  
"Tom," cautioned Harry softly.

But instead of retorting in kind, the EMH nodded crisply. "You're absolutely right, Mr. Paris. Which is why I've been preparing for this scenario." He walked into his office.

Tom and Harry barely had time to look at each other in bemusement before the Doctor came back with a stack of padds.

"Instructions on how to operate sickbay equipment." He was handed a padd. "How to replicate medical supplies." Another padd. "The medical histories of the crew." The list seemed endless. There was even a padd on how to deliver babies of different species. By the time the Doc was finished, Paris guessed he was holding close to twenty padds.

"Review them as soon as possible. I expect you to know them off by heart so that you can aid Kes as efficiently as she aids me."

He looked down at the padds in disbelief. "You want me to learn all of them?" he managed to get out.

Harry whistled. "Rather you than me."

"On the contrary, Mr. Kim," the EMH said, turning on the ensign suddenly. "If you can't restabalise my holomatrix next time, you'll be helping him memorise all of this."

The alarm in Harry's eyes as he looked at the mountain of padds was almost worth having to learn the damn things.

They left the sickbay together after running one last diagnostic.

"Take some of these, would you?"

Kim, yawning, held out his hands to take a handful. "Now I know why I opted for temporal mechanics at the Academy instead of biochemistry."

They started walking again. There were faint specks of blood on the corridor floor leading towards sickbay – perhaps the automatic cleaning systems were malfunctioning. Or maybe the systems had been taken offline to conserve energy.

Paris shook himself. His thoughts kept drifting like that, and it was an effort to focus. He looked over at his friend. Harry had his head down.

He nudged him. "You okay?"

Harry glanced at him, nodded, tried to smile, and then his eyes filled with tears.

"Harry..." Paris balanced the padds and put his arm around his friend. "It'll be okay. Trust me on this. We just need to hang on until it's all over." He tried to speak with conviction.

Harry nodded again, unable to speak, and there was so much pain in his expression that Paris couldn't look at him. But he kept his arm around Harry.

* * *

Over the next few days, they dodged Krenim fire. Lost a couple of crewman who were working deep down on deck fifteen. They were just blown away.

He'd been learning the texts from the Doctor, too. They were tedious, and there were some nights when he was sure his mind could hold no more information, but he was getting through them.

It was during the night shift when the attack happened. He was sleeping in his quarters when he was awakened suddenly by the red alert klaxon. Chakotay's clipped voice told him to get the bridge immediately. Thank goodness he'd taken to sleeping in his uniform.

He arrived, eyes still blurred, adrenaline warding off the lead-like tiredness. Harry had arrived just before he did by the looks of things. Chakotay glanced at him as he took the conn.

"Confirmed," the Vulcan said. "Five Krenim ships closing off the starboard bow."

"Five?" he exclaimed.

Chakotay ignored him. "How far away are they?"

"Less than 50,000 kilometres."

He scanned over his console display. Warp drive was offline, and there was no way they could outrun them on impulse alone.

"Harry, are there any nebulas we could take refuge in?" Chakotay asked.

A second – two – three -

"One, about 73,000 kilometres away."

"Their sensors would be of no use to them," Tuvok offered.

"Paris, have you got the coordinates?"

"Yes, sir."

They weren't going to make it. The ship bucked suddenly. A science console went up in a shower of sparks.

"Direct hit," the Vulcan announced. "Hull breach on deck five. Shields down to seventy percent."

"Seal off that area," Chakotay ordered.

Carey's voice came from engineering. "Sir - "

"Tell me you have warp drive, Mr. Carey."

"No sir. But if we took the plasma injectors offline, vented plasma and launched a torpedo -"

"Are you suggesting we actually ignite the plasma?" Chakotay was incredulous.

"Sir, the Krenim ships would be right in the path. They'd be destroyed."

"There is a high probability that we would not survive the detonation," Tuvok said.

Paris turned to look at him. "What other choice do we have?"

The ship rocked again. "Direct hit. Shields down to thirty percent."

"Thrusters are off-line," Paris said.

Chakotay paused a second. "Okay. Do it, Carey. Tuvok, get ready to fire a photon torpedo at the trail on my mark."

"They're recharging weapons," Harry said.

"Now!"

Tuvok fired the torpedo, and the plasma flared, hurling Voyager towards the cloud. Paris was thrown sideways from his chair, as everything around him exploded.

* * *

"Status report," he heard Chakotay say weakly. The lights on the bridge were flickering on and off. There were fires roaring near the aft science station, and the smell of burning flesh hung in the air. Someone was screaming.

There was no reply from the tactical console, so Paris stood up gingerly, and made his way to the station. Tuvok was lying on the floor, green blood leaking sluggishly from a wound in his head.

"Hull breaches on decks five through to eight." As he spoke, he realised he couldn't move his jaw properly. "Engineering aren't responding." The person was still screaming; he looked up and saw that it was Harry, crumpled near the turbolift with half his face missing.

"The Krenim ships?" Chakotay asked.

He swallowed and tore his gaze back to look at the console readout. "Only partial sensors are working. The ships have been destroyed. We're inside the nebula." Rain was falling - the fire suppression systems must have activated.

Chakotay nodded, cradling his arm. "We can hide here for a while at least. See to Harry." He continued issuing orders to the remaining bridge staff.

He left his post and was over like a shot to the fallen ensign. "Paris to sickbay," he said painfully, trying to keep the younger man still so he could see the extent of the damage. There was no response.

He fought back the rush of fear building up inside him. "Computer, status of the EMH?"

"The emergency medical holographic doctor is offline."

_No…_

* * *

"Sam," he shouted above the noise as he rounded another biobed, "there's too many crewmen in here, send the ones with minor injuries to the messhall."

Ensign Wildman nodded, and looked about her, her eyes wide. She turned back to him. "Tom, how do I know what's minor?" Her voice sounded higher than normal.

"Use the damn tricorder!"

His jaw flared with pain at his verbal explosion, and he saw Kes look at him from the other side of the sickbay. He shrugged it off and turned his attention back to his patient.

The crewman on the biobed was drenched in blood. His neck was bent at an odd angle, and his eyes stared vacantly. Paris knew he was dead, but ran his medical tricorder over the man anyway in case he was wrong. He wasn't.

He reached over and closed the man's eyes. It's Carey, he realised suddenly, it's Joe Carey.

"Tom," Kes called, "I need your help."

He left the body and went to where Kes was treating Harry.

"How is he?"

She shook her head. "His injuries are too severe. I need you to put him in a stasis chamber until we can get the Doctor back."

"I'll go set one up."

He rushed over to where the drawers were, and activated the lower one. The unit slid out automatically, and he recoiled in horror.

B'Elanna was in there.

He stared at her, couldn't stop staring, as his insides caved in. It was only when he felt a hand on his shoulder that he realised he'd stopped breathing.

"The Doctor wanted to keep them preserved for the funeral," Kes said softly.

He tried to speak, but his throat had closed up, and he could only nod, his eyes fixed on the drawer.

Her tone became more urgent. "I'm sorry Tom, but we need the units."

And so he slid his arms under the body and lifted her gently, her cold head lolling on his shoulder. He swallowed hard to stop himself from throwing up, and set her down just as gently. Then he did the same with his Captain.

He hurriedly grabbed a blanket and arranged it over the bodies so that the rest of the crew wouldn't see.

After helping Kes transfer Harry to the chamber, he worked on the other patients with her, and then, when she needed him no longer, he went up to the mess hall and began treating the rest of the crew.

* * *

Once, in a history class at the Academy, he'd read a diary entry from a soldier who had fought in Earth's first world war. The soldier had remained in the trenches for days on end without sleep, and, one day, to his consternation, had watched the setting sun rise.

He felt like that now. Disorientated, and worn-out beyond reason. The ship's lighting, usually dimmed at night to simulate a 24 hour cycle, had been malfunctioning ever since they'd fled into the cloud. He'd lost count of the hours, couldn't tell if it was day or night.

Kes and he had, to the best of their abilities, patched up all the injuries onboard. Those they couldn't treat, like Harry, were in the stasis chambers, waiting for the day when they got the Doctor back online, or when Kes gained enough knowledge to be able to operate on them herself.

"Hold still," Kes chastised him softly, interrupting his thoughts as she ran an osteo regenerator over his jaw.

"It itches," he mumbled.

"The fracture was displaced. You were lucky you didn't lose any teeth."

A moment, then –

"Finished."

He opened his mouth wide, gingerly, then nodded. "Thanks."

Kes smiled at him, and then frowned and toppled slightly.

He hopped off the biobed and steadied her. "Whoa, I've got you."

She leant on his arm for a moment, then stood by herself. "I'm sorry, I felt light-headed for a second - "

Paris interrupted her gently. "Have you had any rest yet?"

"No. And neither have you."

"Go back to your quarters, I'll stay and tidy up." She started to protest, but Paris cut her off. "It won't take long. It'll take even longer if you stay and faint on me."

Kes seemed to know when she was beaten. "All right. But if the computer tells me you're still here in twenty minutes -"

"I won't be. Want me to call Neelix?"

She shook her head. "I'll be fine, Tom. Thank you."

He turned away, tidying the instruments, but he felt her gaze upon him before she left.

After she'd gone, he rounded the corner to the make-shift morgue they had constructed. Fifteen bodies.

He cleared his throat. "Computer, are transporters online yet?"

"Negative."

He tapped the comm badge. "Paris to security."

"Ensign Andrews here, sir."

"I've got cadavers down here in sickbay; I need them transferring to cargo bay one."

There was a brief silence. Then – "Aye sir. I'll send some people over immediately. Andrews out."

He should have just left there and then. But something made him step back inside the morgue and kneel down by her body. Reaching out, he gently lifted the blanket covering her face.

The sound of the sickbay doors startled him, and he stood up quickly, directed the security men towards the bodies, and left.

The walk back to his quarters seemed to take forever. He keyed in the door code, stepped inside and started pulling off his boots. Distractedly, he asked the computer for the time, but didn't register its response.

He shrugged off his jacket, ordered a snack from the replicator and sank into his easy chair. He ate, mechanically, and felt guilty that he was resting when there was still so much to be done.

Thought of his friend, his almost-brother, lying in the stasis booth in a no man's land between life and death.

Thought of his Captain. Without her, they were adrift.

Thought of B'Elanna, even though he tried not to. The way her body had felt when he lifted her up out the chamber. And before, when she was so wholly alive.

His vision blurred, and he swiped a hand across his face impatiently. _Please, not now, I just want to eat._

But somehow his body just wouldn't obey the rational voice in his head, for he kept eating, and his eyes filled up again. _Come on, get a grip._

There was a painful lump in his throat, and he choked on his food, so he put the plate to one side and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm himself.

As he breathed in again, the inhalation caught in a sob, and so he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, but it was as if he had no control at all, for the need to cry was so strong that it hurt, and he couldn't hold it in, couldn't stop his chest from constricting, so he folded his arms around himself tightly in one last attempt to hold in the cries, and started sobbing, and sobbing, deep guttural sounds that frightened him, and he tried to stop, tried to breathe, and distantly he heard the door chime sounding and his head was aching and even though he was gasping for air he still couldn't stop, and he didn't know what to do, and he felt comforting arms around him and thought it was her, but the hair was blonde and he realised it was Kes and he just couldn't stop…

_Finis_


End file.
